Oba awoke before dawn, soaked and shivering on the far bank of the River Ameta. The dream—no, the vision—clung to him like a second skin. Every time he blinked, he saw her again: amber eyes, floating hair, the haunting voice that echoed like riverwind through hollow bamboo.
His body ached, but he forced himself up. If his father found out where he'd been, the punishment would be swift. Worse, if the village elders heard, they'd cast him out—or worse, accuse him of summoning spirits.
The crossing back was quiet. The river, now calm and unbothered, barely rippled as he waded through it. It was as if nothing had happened.
But something had.
By the time Oba returned to the village, the sun was rising in pink streaks, and morning smoke curled from the thatched kitchens. He snuck behind his family's compound and rinsed the mud from his feet in silence.
"Where were you?" a soft voice asked behind him.
He turned sharply. It was Maria, the potter's daughter — his childhood friend and, lately, his quiet admirer. She held a calabash of water and a puzzled look.
"I went to the forest," Oba lied quickly.
"Liar," she said. "Your feet are wet, not dusty. You smell of the river."
Oba froze.
Maria stepped closer. "You crossed, didn't you?" she whispered.
"I… I had to see for myself," he said. "And I saw her, Maria. The goddess."
Her eyes widened. "Then you're cursed."
"No," he said. "I'm… I don't know. I think she marked me."
They stared at each other, the air suddenly thick. Then, without a word, Maria turned and left, leaving him alone with the weight of the river in his chest.
That night, Oba could not sleep. His body was hot, burning. His dreams were filled with water — twisting, rising, drowning him — and always her, watching.
By morning, strange things began to happen.
Wherever Oba walked, the ground stayed wet long after his feet had passed. A stream that had run dry behind his house trickled again, clear and full. And animals—goats, dogs, birds—watched him with silent, unblinking eyes.
The village children whispered.
"He walks like the river."
"He doesn't cast a shadow at noon."
"His eyes shine at night."
Oba tried to pretend nothing had changed, but deep down, he knew better. The goddess had marked him. The river had chosen him.
And now, it was inside him.
Watch out for episode 2